The Christmas Cat

by Melody Carlson

  “Yeah. It got pretty bad. They sent me home for medical help. Probably a good thing.”

  “And you can’t go back?”

  “Not anytime soon.” He told her about his more recent dreams, about creating a halfway house, and even a bit about Elliott. “It’s really giving me hope.”

  “Do you think you might stay here? Make a halfway house in your grandmother’s house?”

  “I’m seriously considering it.” He confessed to how lost he had felt these past few months. “It was like I couldn’t find my way. Couldn’t get my feet beneath me,” he told her as the sky grew duskier. Something about this purple-gray light made him feel more comfortable talking about his feelings. It was kind of like being in a confessional—where you couldn’t see a priest. Not that he was Catholic or had ever done that, but he could imagine. “I felt like I was an old man, all washed up at the ripe old age of thirty-four.”

  “I’m thirty-two,” she said quietly. “I can’t imagine feeling washed up in a couple of years.”

  “Well, that’s how I felt. Like my best life was behind me. Like I gave all I had and had lost a lot of myself in the process.” Or maybe he’d just never known himself to start with.

  “How could you lose yourself?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe it was my heart that I lost while I was over there.”

  “Your heart?” she said quietly.

  “There was a girl that I thought I was in love with.” He sighed, wishing he hadn’t mentioned this. But there it was—out there. His admission to failure in the romance arena.

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. Her name was Leah and I was pretty sure that the sun and the moon rose because of her.” He made a forced laugh. “For a while she even pretended to care for me.”

  “Pretended?”

  “Yeah . . . I’m pretty sure it was an act. Turned out she had another guy on the line the whole while she was spending time with me. I think she actually used me to make him jealous. Anyway, they are happily married now. With a baby too. Really, I wish them no ill. But it did hurt. It took its toll.”

  “Yeah . . . I can imagine.”

  “But here’s the deal,” he said suddenly. “I’m starting to feel found again. Like I really am coming back to life. I know it’s partly due to feeling healthier now. The malaria is under control. But there’s something about being here. Something about working on Gram’s house. Spending time with Elliott. Even hanging with Harry . . . it all feels right.” He paused under the streetlight, turning to smile at her. She smiled back and suddenly he longed to take her hand in his. He wanted to tell her that she was a big part of the “rightness” that was happening in his life. But at the same time, he didn’t want to scare her off. Already, he’d said much more than he’d intended.

  Instead of making what could turn into an awkward declaration, and since it was now dark, he insisted on walking her home. As they walked down her street, he lightened the conversation by telling her more about Elliott and how he recognized some great potential in the young man. “Here we are,” he said as they walked up to her door.

  “But now I’ll miss seeing the improvements in your house,” she declared as they stood on the front porch together.

  “Come by tomorrow,” he told her. “I’ll give you the full tour. I promise.”

  As he walked home, he wondered if he’d been presumptuous to escort her all the way up to her door. As if he’d thought they were on a date. The last thing he wanted was to overwhelm her. Especially considering how they’d gotten off on the wrong foot over Harry last week. And he knew that his dating skills, at best, were rusty. He needed to go carefully with this woman . . . pace himself. Just the same, his step lightened as he considered the progress they’d made this evening. And he would get to see her again tomorrow!

  11

  On Friday morning, as Garrison worked on the second-floor rooms, he got an idea. Rather, Harry gave him an idea. It seemed that whichever room Garrison was working on, Harry was determined to occupy. But as Garrison was talking to the cat, telling him to keep his tail out of the paint tray, it hit him. If he kept Harry, why couldn’t he keep the ten grand that was supposed to go with Harry? Wouldn’t that be fair? Or would Gram’s attorney have objections because he didn’t meet Gram’s strict requirements? But that seemed ridiculous. After all, he was her grandson. Wouldn’t she be delighted he’d gotten over his cat phobia and wanted one of her cats?

  With that ten grand, Garrison could afford to pass on the Seattle job. He could buy himself time to figure things out here. Perhaps he could even start up the halfway house. Maybe he could get the church to back him. After all, they had backed him with Uganda. Suddenly it all seemed very doable.

  He went to search for his phone, turning it on to see there were even more messages now. It seemed everyone wanted a cat now. Ignoring the messages, he called Mr. Miller, but discovering he was out of town until Monday, he told the assistant he’d call back. But even as he turned off his phone again, he felt hopeful. This plan could work! However, he knew better than to call Seattle and burn that bridge. It had taken far too long to land that job. No way was he going to toss it aside without some kind of assurance from Mr. Miller.

  The bulk of the work in the house was pretty much wrapped up by noon, and to celebrate, Garrison ordered pizza for Vincent and Elliott. “You guys are the best,” Garrison said as he held up a slice of pizza like a toast. “I never would’ve accomplished all this without your help.”

  “I’ve enjoyed having a project to dig into,” Vincent admitted. “Wish I could do some of these upgrades in my own house.”

  “Well, when your ship comes in and you’re ready to do some renovations, don’t forget that I owe you,” Garrison told him. He wanted to add that, come Christmas Eve, Vincent would have some unexpected cash to work with.

  “I’ll remember that,” Vincent said a bit doubtfully. “When my ship comes in.” He pointed at Elliott. “And if that should happen, I’d like to hire you, young man. The three of us could really do some great things on my house.”

  “Just let me know,” Elliott said as he reached for another slice.

  They talked and joked about the work they’d done and Garrison could tell they were all a little sad to see it coming to an end. “But don’t forget,” he reminded them, “as soon as the weather starts warming up, I’ll want to start working on the exterior of the house. We’ll have a reunion tour in the spring.”

  The doorbell rang as they were cleaning up the pizza mess. As Garrison went to answer it, Vincent excused himself, and Elliott said he was going upstairs to put a final coat of paint on the bathroom baseboard.

  Cara was at the door, smiling expectantly. “Is this an okay time for a tour?”

  “Perfect.” He welcomed her in, explaining how they were just finishing up. Then he led her around the house, taking her from room to room while she gushed over the progress he’d made.

  “I never could’ve done it without Elliott and Vincent,” he said. “We made a pretty great team.”

  “Well, you’ve really turned this house around,” she declared as they came back to the living room.

  “There are still lots of little things to do,” he said. “But the big stuff is done.”

  “And you even have furniture.” She made a puzzled frown as she sat on the leather couch. “Very manly too.”

  He laughed. “That’s just temporary. Beth’s ex-husband picked it out.” He explained about the storage unit.

  “Oh . . . so you’re kind of storing it for her?”

  “Something like that.” He grinned. “Although Elliott thinks it’s sick.”

  She smiled. “As in cool, right?”

  “Yeah. You knew that already?”

  She laughed. “Unlike some people I haven’t been living under a rock.”

  He feigned a wounded expression. Unfortunately, she was right.

  “Sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean—”

  “No problem. Just jer
king your chain.” He grinned.

  She laughed as she stood. “Well then, on that note, I think I should go.”

  “Did I scare you away?”

  “No, I just have a lot to get done before quitting time.”

  “Speaking of quitting time . . .” He followed her to the door, trying to think of a clever way to ask her out. “I, uh, I’ve been meaning to invite you to dinner. I’d like to properly thank you for all your help in finding homes for the cats. Are you busy tonight?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said as she opened the door. “I, uh, I already have plans.”

  Garrison just nodded, trying to determine if this was her way of saying he’d just stepped over the line. “Yeah . . . well, that’s okay.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to act nonchalant. But for some reason this felt like a brush-off. Like Cara was being insincere . . . just making an excuse not to go out with him. He followed her out to the porch—more to be polite than because he wanted to.

  “Okay, I can tell you don’t believe me,” she said a bit contritely.

  He shrugged. “Hey, if you don’t want to go out with me, I understand. I’d just like to think you’d be honest with me.” He looked directly into her eyes. “We are friends, right?”

  “Of course,” she declared. “But I am being honest. I really do have a previous engagement tonight. I promised David that I’d go to a Christmas party with him and there’s—”

  “Cara, you don’t have to report to me,” he said too abruptly. “I said I understand. No big deal. I get it.”

  “Well, okay then.” She let out a frustrated sigh and he knew that he’d hurt her, but how could he take it back? “I better go,” she said quietly.

  “Yeah . . . me too.” As he went back inside, Garrison knew he was being immature. He knew that this wasn’t how you treated people—friend or not. But hearing that Cara had a date with David—well, that just cut him to the core. Especially after some of the things he’d shared with her. Sure, he was being juvenile, but he just couldn’t seem to help himself. As he continued washing paintbrushes in the laundry sink, he tried not to think about it. But in his mind’s eye he kept seeing them together. Cara in her garnet-red knit dress or maybe even something more alluring. David in a suave dark suit. Together . . . laughing . . . dancing . . . falling in love.

  “Hey, man, are you painting or cleaning brushes?” Elliott asked as he stuck his head in the laundry room.

  Garrison forced a smile. “Caught me.”

  “Well, I gotta go. Promised my grandmother we’d take in a flick tonight.” He made a face. “Hope I don’t see anyone I know.”

  “If you do, just hold your head high. Show them that you’re man enough to be seen in public with your grandmother. If they don’t respect you, they don’t deserve your respect.”

  Elliott nodded. “Yeah, man, I think you’re right.”

  The next morning, despite feeling a bit like Scrooge, Garrison decided to take in the Christmas parade. As he walked to town, he remembered the last time he’d been here for a Christmas parade. He’d been playing trombone in the high school marching band and hoping to catch the eye of a pretty majorette named Jenny—who probably still didn’t know his name. Had things really changed much since then?

  As he turned his collar up against the morning chill, he decided a Christmas parade was just the ticket to cheer him up. On his way, he strolled past the staging area, looking on with amusement as he passed the homemade floats and marching band members tuning their instruments and trying not to appear nervous. He grinned at a group of costumed children from the school of dance, stomping their feet to stay warm. Everyone was anxiously awaiting the firehouse whistle to signal it was time to begin.

  Feeling unexplainably giddy himself, he hurried past the staging area and on toward Main Street. Eager to find a good spot where he could watch the small-town spectacle, he wondered how he’d managed to celebrate Christmas all these years without a folksy parade to kick it off.

  He was just going past the hardware store when he spied Cara. It wasn’t exactly like he was looking for her, but it wasn’t exactly like he wasn’t. Plus she was easy to spot. Her bright red scarf wrapped carelessly around her neck seemed to set off her shining chestnut hair. “Hey, Cara,” he said as he stepped up next to her.

  “Garrison!” Her eyes sparkled with surprise—or perhaps pleasure?

  Garrison noticed the boy on her other side. “Hey, Jackson,” he said in a friendly tone. “What’s up, my man?” Okay, he sounded like a bad imitation of Elliott, but he was only trying to be friendly . . . to fit in.

  Jackson flashed him a crooked smile. “Not much.”

  “How’s Muzzy doing?” Garrison asked, hoping to encourage the boy to engage like his dad wanted him to.

  “She’s fine.” Jackson nodded eagerly. “She’s a good cat.”

  “Is she talking your ear off yet?”

  Jackson laughed. “Yeah.”

  “Garrison!” David exclaimed as he joined them. “How’s it going?”

  “Pretty good,” Garrison said with a stiff smile. “How about you?”

  “I’m great. Thanks.” David, wearing a black fedora and walking coat, resembled an ad for a fashion magazine. In his gloved hands was a cardboard tray with three hot drinks balanced in it. But he was gazing intently at Garrison as if he was in the way somehow.

  Garrison got it. Barely nodding, he stepped away from Cara’s side. Like clockwork, David slid right into the same spot—like he belonged there. And maybe he did. Clearly the three of them had come together to watch the parade. In fact, they actually looked like a family. Even though he was obviously odd man out, Garrison stubbornly remained in place. Sure, he could admit it—at least to himself: he was as socially challenged as young Jackson.

  David’s blue eyes twinkled as he handed a cup to Cara. “Here you go, my lady. Your mocha—just how you like it—dash of cinnamon, splash of vanilla.”

  “Thanks,” she murmured with downcast eyes. Was she playing the coquette or was she simply embarrassed by David’s patronizing and somewhat territorial attention? And really, why was Garrison remaining stubbornly in place? It was clear that his presence wasn’t welcome.

  “And here’s your cocoa, bud.” David handed his son a cup, giving Garrison an apologetic look. “If I’d known you were here, old man, I’d have got you a coffee too.”

  “No problem.” Garrison forced a smile. “I was just about to head over to the coffee shop myself.”

  David held out the cardboard tray to him. “Hey, then maybe you can take this back for me. Recycling—good for the earth you know.” He grinned victoriously.

  Garrison took the tray and, feeling dismissed, said a quick goodbye and continued on his way. He wanted to throw the tray to the ground and smash it beneath his boot, but he knew that would make him look like a jealous fool. Already he felt stupid enough. What difference should it make to him if Cara wanted to watch the parade with her neighbors? Why shouldn’t she?

  Garrison picked up a newspaper, then got in line for coffee, telling himself that the mature thing was to grab his beverage then go back and enjoy the Christmas festivities with the three of them. After all, they were neighbors—right?

  But as he ordered his coffee he heard the firehouse whistle blow and by the time his coffee was ready, the parade was well on its way. Instead of going out to the street to watch it, he sat down at a small table by the window and watched the parade—by himself. He felt like the kid with his nose pressed against the toy store window—longing for something he could never have—hoping for Santa to do the impossible, yet knowing that Santa wasn’t real.

  Garrison knew he looked pathetic sitting there by himself, moping over his coffee while pretending to peruse the local paper, but it was the best he could manage. Why had he let Cara get under his skin like this? Hadn’t he learned his lesson with Leah in Uganda? Would he ever learn?

  The best thing to do is get on with your life, he chided himself. Quit m
oping around and wrap up Gram’s business and get himself back to Seattle where a job—and who knew what else—awaited him. He pulled out his phone and, for the first time in days, turned it on. To his surprise there were thirty-three messages—and all from strange local numbers. That silly ad had really done the trick. Garrison had no doubt what these people wanted. He listened to a few of them just to confirm his suspicions. All of them were eager to adopt a cat—unexplainably eager. Yet the more pleas he listened to, the more he wanted to keep Harry for himself.

  But he knew that was crazy and selfish. Harry would not be happy in Randall’s apartment—left alone all day while Garrison was at work and stuck in a small apartment with no access to the outdoors. That wasn’t fair or kind. And Gram would never have approved. Besides that, what about his allergies? Did he want to continue taking allergy meds nonstop around the clock? Did he want to be forced to wear particle masks?

  He knew it wasn’t just selfish to keep Harry for himself, it was plain wrong. Harry was a good cat. He deserved better. But if he had to part with Harry, he was determined to find him a really good home. As he walked back to Gram’s house, he began responding to the messages, sifting through and eliminating the callers. For the first time he was really thankful for Gram’s list.

  12

  By the time Garrison got home from the parade, he knew what had to be done. Even if it wasn’t easy, it was the right thing to do. He solemnly dialed the Maxwells’ number, inwardly hoping no one would answer.

  “I’m so glad you called,” Mr. Maxwell said after Garrison went over the usual preliminaries. “We lost a beloved family dog a few months ago. My children were completely devastated. I’m still getting over it myself. I never knew that an animal could steal my heart like Barnie did. So much so that I told myself I’d never get another pet.” He made a loud sigh. “But my children don’t agree. So I thought . . . why not get a cat?”

  “Well, this is a very special cat,” Garrison told him. “Almost like a dog.”